Soft Males and Soft Mysteries, but still Enjoyable

In McCall Smith’s No 1 Ladies Detective Agency series, in 44 Scotland St (to which he’s now written a sequel), and also in his newer series, The Sunday Philosophy Club, his main characters are all women. Furthermore, his male characters have what might be called a ‘softness’ about them; they have little aggression and are seldom violent. If you’re looking for ‘masculine’ action, you won’t find it in McCall Smith’s books.

This is plainly part of this author’s appeal. He has an ability to create enjoyable female characters, to provide easy-going storytelling (plots take very much a second place to character), and to keep us reading even when nothing in particular is happening. And, of course, there’s the subtle humour underlying so much of what he writes.

The humour’s less obvious in this book, but it’s still there, and his main character, Isabel Dalhousie - who analyses almost everything from a philosophical point of view - not only has a quirky way of looking at life, but also knows at times she shouldn’t say something – and says it anyway.

The main story here concerns a man who’s had a heart transplant and is now seeing threatening visions which he feels are not so much related to him as to the heart’s original owner. Dalhousie, who has a bit of a reputation as someone who’s prepared to nose things out where necessary, is called on to try and find out why this should be.

Like McCall Smith’s males, the ‘mystery’ is a bit soft too, and not much more than a hook to hang the characters on. But then the mysteries in the No 1 Ladies series were hardly eye-popping either. Curiously, though this is supposed to be part of a series called the Sunday Philosophy Club, there’s nary a mention of it throughout the book. And did I miss something important about Chocolate?

McCall Smith has a tendency to introduce characters and situations and then fail to develop them. Whether it’s because he’s planning to write more in each series, or whether it’s part of his style, or whether it’s a certain lackadaisicality, I’m not sure.

Nevertheless it’s odd that he hints at things about some of his minor characters that he never takes further: the male shop assistant in the delicatessen whose life has undercurrents which ultimately we’re never made party to. Or the Italian Lothario who turns up, appears to be making a play for Isabel, and then just fades out of the story. Perhaps it’s a sign of haste: this author has been churning out books at a rate of knots for several years: at least nine of his fifty or so titles have been published in 2004 and 2005 alone.

Still, if you like McCall Smith, read it. There’s little chocolate, but lots of enjoyment.